


Small Ball

by SassyTowers24



Series: Thoughts [2]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 09:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19438690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyTowers24/pseuds/SassyTowers24





	1. BC on ABX

“So, what did I miss?” Mike asked as he shut the door of the doctor’s office exam room. Ginny snorted for two reasons, one he had a large coffee in his hand, the reason he left the room in the first place, even though it was well after noon. And second because she was about to drop a big ass bomb in his lap and he looked so cute and concerned.

Mike was trying to read her expression but was coming up empty. She looked...bemused?

“Is that sinus infection back? Babe, I told you to finish the antibiotics. Doc, I told her. Remember how she lies.”

Ginny just laughed and reached for the coffee. There was no way he was gonna keep his grip on this once he found out that she finished those antibiotics and in turn got pregnant because of the interaction with her birth control.

Ah, this would be fun.


	2. BBQ

“I don’t get it man,” Blip was shaking his head. “You were always freaking out about your ‘next step’. But you’ve been retired for months and you haven’t made any sure steps with your career.”

“Yeah, well. Things change. People change.”

“No. Mike Lawson does not change. Was it winning the series?”

“No you idiot, it was falling for Ginny. She’s my next step.”


	3. First Pitch

“Ladies and Gentlemen, to start off this season in our home opener, please welcome to the mound, for today’s ceremonial first pitch, last year’s MVP for your San Diego Padres World Series Championship team, MIKE LAWSON!”

Mike jogged out on the field wearing his Padres uniform with a blue 36 on his back. Ginny sighed. He could’ve easily just taken one out of his closet, no need for them to make a whole new jersey for one pitch. But then she looked at the snazzy new patch on the sleeve showing off their championship logo. It made sense now.

She looked at him again reigning in all his glory and the sold out stadium lost their collective mind at their baseball hero back again, as if he never left. Ginny sighed again.

For a moment she actually forgot he was there as a guest as she made her way out to the field. Her mind focused on breathing and the next opponent. Her muscle memory took her to the mound. She shook her head getting her thoughts straight as she jumped the chalk line, decidedly not headed behind the plate.

She was drowning out the crowd when she bumped into Mike.

“Ginny. Hello there. You gotta go to home plate to catch my pitch,” his hands were on her shoulders as she came back into her surroundings.

“Oh my! HA!” She laughed when she realized the whole stadium was laughing at her blunder. He used his hands to push her towards the plate then pointed her down the grass like he was an air traffic controller.

She giggled into her mitt as she handed Mike the game ball and ran to the plate.

He was laughing too. He stood on the rubber, obviously mocking her stance and warm up, and even though she didn’t offer up any signs he shook her off. Hamming it up for the home crowd, and they loved it.

Her quads were getting sore squatting for so long and her eyes hurt from rolling them so hard. But she was smiling hard too.

Finally a perfect throw landed in her mitt and Mike was jogging toward her. She just stayed in the dirt, like that night in October months ago. He pulled her up and into a big hug.

“Stop making it obvious you love me,” she whines into his ear, with a small smile.

“Did you get a little confused there Baker? Just assumed I was headed behind home plate to run after your wild pitches?”

He set her down but made her take a picture with him and politely asked her to sign the ball he had thrown. While this was happening, she felt stress she didn’t know she carrying melt off her back.

When she handed him back the ball he held it up to the crowd and they cheered. For the fourth time already. And the game hasn’t even started.

She watched him, waiting for him to read what she had written and praying he didn’t throw it into the sea of people in front of them. But he was too busy making the rounds before they would inevitably corral him off the field.

Ginny was already warming up on the mound when he finally read the note she left on the white leather, her writing making its way around the red stitches. He realized it was more than a signature.

36, thanks for teaching me to aim. Mic drop. I love you more than my screwball. 43

Oscar approached him with a hand extended for a handshake. Mike took it, pocketing the ball deep in his jeans away from prying eyes, watching Ginny over Oscar’s shoulder the whole time. She looked strong. But he knew playing so far into last season was something she hadn’t totally recovered from.

“Thanks for coming back for this, Mike. You mean so much to this organization. Can I take you to the box?”

“No, thanks Oscar. I know the way. I’m going to sit with the WAGs anyway. Do you mind if I go through the tunnel?”

“Not at all, I’ll walk with you.”

“Actually I’d prefer to go alone. I want to close this chapter.” And with that he was off giving once rare hugs to the team. Even the rookies. He waved to the team on the field, except Ginny who had that laser focus on her new catcher.

Mike thought he would feel resentment towards them. The ones who still had time and talent and working joints. But he didn’t. He felt relief and contentment. He would tell the public it was because he would soon be wearing a championship ring on his finger, but really it was him. He made some good choices the last few seasons. Ones he was happy to live with.

He let his fingers drag over the bench and the helmet cubbies. He breathed in the sand and grass and rosin and smelly feet mixed with peanuts and chewing tobacco. And when he thought no one was looking he slipped into the clubhouse.

Warm brown eyes from the center of the infield followed him, their focus wavering for a moment before shaking them straight and refocusing them into the eyes of Livan. Game on they communicated to each other.

Mike heard the crowd cheer for the first strike thrown. He wanted to see the rest but he was busy right now. Saying goodbye to all the walls and rooms and doors that held his dreams for so long. He lingered in front of his old locker. It was still empty, but he assumed it wouldn’t be for long. He breathed deeply and swore he could smell the champagne. He peaked into the training room and the workout room, pleased to see the murals on the wall had been changed to pictures from their playoff run. He slipped some tip money where the clubbies and batboys would find it later.

“Well, this is fucking weird,” he said to no one. Who thought he would willingly be leaving baseball? He never thought this day would come. He swore the year he almost went to Chicago that when baseball ended he would’ve just ceased to exist. Like his life blood was connected to this sport. But he had learned how much life he had left to live outside of this sport. And he was ready.

He heard the crowd cheer again, rather loudly. Reminding him he had a baseball in his pocket and a gem of a pitcher on the mound he promised to watch closely. He clutched the baseball, rereading the message and chuckling.

As he ran up to the box seats where Evelyn had a beer and a saved seat waiting for him he started rehearsing a speech to Ginny about how she taught him to aim. And love. And enjoy. And worry less. And be happy. And feel free. And, the list kept getting longer. He made it to the top of the stadium, pretty winded (he was retired) and smiling just in time to catch the final out of the first inning. He saw she had given up no hits. He settled into his seat and started drinking his beer.

Before exiting the infield, she looked up at the video board amused to see Mike’s face in all its glory, smiling.

As she started walking towards the dugout she searched through a hundred feet of air and a glass window. Ginny wanted to see those eyes for herself. She would’ve sworn on her life that they locked eyes just like they used to.

Game on.


	4. Movie Night: Major League Edition

“This is a movie about you, oh my goodness. Why didn’t you just say so?”

“It is not,” Mike said, drinking his beer a little more aggressively.

“C’mon, an aging catcher with bad knees all alone in the world leading a few rookies around? Or dare I say, ducklings?”

“There are maybe two similarities. And one is the position.”

“Did you, like, produce it?” Ginny can feel the beer she’s currently drinking, but also feels every look Mike gives her as she needles him about his movie choice.

******

“I’m emotionally 34,” Ginny offers randomly as the internet reboot takes a few minutes into the movie.

“According to who?”

“I think it was a buzzfeed article. Evelyn took it for me. I think it’s true though, I had like twenty minutes of a childhood. Do I seem mature to you?”

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that, but if buzzfeed says so......”

Mike was so glad when the movie restarted. Well, until the comments started again.

*****************

“Well at least you didn’t crash you ex’s and accidentally show up to a dinner party. Yikes, this is hard to watch.”

Mike just turned red, continued to take large gulps of his beer and prayed she wouldn’t put two and two together.

“No!” Her eyes were huge, but her smile was bigger.

“You poor bastard. You never show up uninvited, anywhere! What possessed you to do that?”

“Honestly, I was pretty drunk that night. 2016 was a weird year for me, okay? Just watch the movie.”

Mike was beginning to see this whole night as a mistake, but he smiled anyway.

********

“If I am Jake Taylor, hero, then you are obviously Wild Thing. You think you would throw strikes if I got you some big ass glasses?”

“Whatever Mr. Taylor,” Ginny was enjoying herself, and her beer.

Kind of a lot.

*******

“Do you harass batters like that? Talk about their wives and shit?”

“You tell me, Baker.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Because I know you watch me play, you know how I treat batters.”

“Okay, maybe I do now, but have you always been this way?”

“What songs did you hum before Katy Perry?”

“Fair enough, I’ll just watch the movie now.”

“Thank you.”

************

“I think it should be mandatory that third basemen are number 24,” Ginny states as she begins to blink longer and longer. Mike looks at her and remembers she used to be sitting on his couch, but now she was sprawled out on it, laying in what looked like an enormously comfy position. He realized he wants her to fall asleep and stay all night, but he also wants her to leave when the movie ends.

************************

“Wait they end the movie on the pennant? What about the series?” Ginny looks horribly upset.

“What do you think happened, Baker?”

“Wow, I have no idea, I wanted them to tell me. But I guess Cleveland never wins it all, so they didn’t lie.”

“I’d like to think they won it all,” Mike seems introspective, an emotion Ginny rarely sees.

“I hope you get the pennant and the girl, Mike. Just like your twin Jake Taylor, catcher/hero.”

“Thanks Baker, I guess. And you too, I hope that if you ever sleep with a teammates wife, he forgives you and we win anyway.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she makes herself fake blush and then yawns, obnoxiously. She grabs her coat and locates her shoes. And part of Mike is disappointed she’s leaving, but he also feels deep relief.

“I gotta go Lawson, thanks for the distraction. Catch ya later, JT.”

“Ya, Baker please don’t call me the name of a cheater, huh?”

“Sounds good,” she closes the door behind her.

**************

_Wild Thing….you make my heart sing_ he sings to himself as he turns off the entertainment system and double checks that Baker made into the car okay. He reaches for his phone to text her as he climbs the stairs, but sees she’s already texted.

_Please refer to me as Wild Thing from now on._

He answers, _Absolutely not._


	5. Last Pitch

So this is how this feels. Well, she thought, technically she had felt this feeling before. Seeing the line of zeros up on the board. No runs for the Astros. No hits for the Astros. No errors. And it was the seventh inning. 

This time it was different, for several reasons. She wasn’t angry at anyone, she wasn’t in a fight with anyone who breathed around her. Well Mike pissed her off almost daily, and they fought all the time. Today’s fight had been who was gonna die first. They both wanted to be first. Even just remembering it made her angry as she ground her cleat into the clay of the mound. 

The song in her head was different. This time it's songs, plural. And they were all cheesy love songs. Ugh. It made her wanna gag and blush at the same time. She shook her head to clear it, but God, that karaoke song was running around her head. So she just accepted that this was her song now. Ugh.

Mike wasn’t behind the plate this time, and Blip wasn’t in the outfield. She was older and wiser, but she did blush when she thought about the necklace around her neck, the one she kept tucked in her uniform, right against her skin. The one that had a number 36 charm hanging off of the chain. She couldn’t help but smile as she waited for the sign. She smiled and shook her head, shaking off the call and shaking off her embarrassment. 

She had someone she loved in the stands this time. He didn’t sit in the box anymore, he told her he liked to be closer to the field, something about the smell. She couldn’t get her thoughts straight, the stress of a perfect game and all. She shook her head again. She called time and took a little walk around the mound, deep breathing the whole time.   
Ginny felt like Mike was on the third base side this time, in the cheaper seats. She guessed he was near the tarp, sitting incognito among his adoring fans. Probably freaking out. She was freaking out. She scanned the faces, desperate for his eye, but came up with nothing. She walked back up to the rubber.

It was too loud. God, she just had one more out for this inning. Focus, focus, focus….she commanded herself. She wanted to scream out in anticipation and frustration and fear and relief and emotion, but she buried it. One more, one more, one more. 

She heard the bat hit the ball and saw the infield make the out no problem. She was grateful but more tired, and lonely. And nervous, if she was being honest, but she wasn’t being honest. 

She walked slowly back to the dugout. For the first time since the silent treatment was instigated, she was relieved she could sit in silence. Thinking and sitting, and breathing and watching; that was all she was interested in. That and some runs, Ginny Baker at least wanted to leave with a win.   
**********  
When she walks back out to the mound, her energy and pep has been restored. This is where she belongs, the center of the infield. She takes a deep breath and its game on. The eighth inning is a battle for her, each batter going deep into the count. They aren’t chasing her pitches anymore, someone has taught them patience in the last half inning. But her frustration hasn’t come back, she feels herself rising to the challenge. When she gets out of the inning, hit-less but barely, she walks confidently back to the dugout. The nervousness and anticipation has made their home in the pit of her stomach with a slight tingling in her knee caps. She didn’t want to be the girl who almost had two perfect games, she wanted to be the girl who owned a perfect game. She wanted it so bad, and suddenly too.

Ginny rarely thought about her last almost no-hitter. So much had happened in her life since then, it almost felt like it happened to a different person.   
She couldn’t sit anymore, so the world watched as Ginny Baker, girl on the cusp of a perfect game paced the dugout. The Padres had a runner on second, and she could do with another insurance run. So she stood up against the railing, fully engaged in the top of the inning.   
***********  
Mike regretted everything. It was supposed to be a slow Sunday afternoon game. He had downloaded a new book onto his phone. He had picked out a seat about the third base line under the overhang so he was out of the sun. He decided not to drink any beer, so he brought no cash. Now he was watching Ginny pitch a perfect game, completely sober and with no view into the dugout. He had no idea where her head was. He felt spacey and loose. She looked spacey and loose, but he knew he was probably projecting.   
He wondered how bad her arm hurt. He wondered if she even knew he was there. When she left the house early he still hadn’t made up his mind if he was gonna show up, she had shrugged her shoulders and said, “Either way, see you later.” Just like that, and now she was making history. Again. There were literally people crying around him. Grown men, blubbering.

He watches her take the mound for the final inning, or what he hoped was the final inning. Three more outs. Three more outs. She only throws three pitches to warm up. Her pitch count is in the high one teens. His left leg is bouncing, like an earth quake, he thinks. Normally this would upset everyone around him, but nervous energy is radiating off everyone, accept the Astros - they seem to be radiating annoyance.

Bastards, he mumbles to himself. None of them want to be the associated with the group of professional men who collectively couldn’t get a single hit off a girl.   
He watches every pitch, every out, but is still somehow surprised when he looks up and realizes that she has one out to go. How did he miss that? 

She looks so tired. She keeps adjusting her jersey over her throwing arm. He hopes she’s been staying hydrated. Ginny is waiting for the batter to get into the box, and he smiles proudly. She lets the boys know she’s waiting on them, thank you very much. 

This is when the administration would be gathering the wife/girlfriend of the pitcher, Mike suddenly realizes. They would be ushered down the back hallways and elevators so the pitcher could celebrate with his family immediately. But Ginny doesn’t have anyone up there for her, he realizes with some horror. He shifts uncomfortably. Because this is how they wanted it. He grimaces but refocuses. 

And then she pitches. But this guy is sitting back, fouling balls, taking pitches. Motherfucker is just coolly waiting for her to mess up. But the count is full and Ginny’s eyes narrow, the whole energy changes, at least for Mike. She’s wasn’t ever messing around, but now she’s pissed. 

So naturally the batter goes down swinging, and Mike laughs out loud because she got this guy out on the slowest fast ball he has ever seen. 

The stadium explodes and the dugout empties. Everyone is on their feet except for him. He’s not crying. Or losing his shit. But he will admit to watching the celebration on the Jumbo Tron, feeling some of the relief she is. He watches her run from her mobbing teammates, as they all follow her around laughing and slapping her back the touching the majestic arm. Her smile is huge. God, he loves her. So he gets to his feet. And takes the stairs closer to the field. He wants to see her in person, not through technology.   
******  
Still being jumped on by teammates and swarmed by media Ginny scans the crowds for him, she wants to celebrate with her family. By chance, she sees him right where she guessed. He asks through gestures if she wants him down there and she immediately says yes, yelling and nodding her head and beckoning him with that perfect arm. He’s making his way down the steps, gently weaving through people, when other people start looking at who Ginny Baker was talking to in a moment like this. By the time he gets to the last step, the whispers of “Mike Lawson?” have turned to shouts. Security isn’t just going to let him jump on the field, but he’s fine being just this close. 

But when Ginny sees him get within arm’s length, she grabs his plain blue T-Shirt and pulls him, stumbling, onto the field before wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him something fierce. All before security has anything to say. 

Mike looks up and sees himself, hugging Ginny Baker on the Jumbo Tron. Then he realizes he hasn’t said anything to her, but honestly no words come to mind in a moment like this. When she pulls back he just looks at her, and smiles so genuinely she can’t help but make out with him. Encircled by media, and teammates and coaches and management and fans and everyone at home tuning in. 

He finally pulls away because he feels like it’s getting awkward. He notices this would have all come out anyway because that gaudy, hideous charm with his old number had bounced out of her jersey, probably during her celebration. He told her it was weird and awkward when she bought it, but she claimed she didn’t ask for his opinion on the matter.

“I’ve decided, Miss Baker that I will definitely be dying first.” He holds her hands in his, shaking them a little. “You took several years off my life in those past five innings. A fast ball?! Are you kidding me?!” He realizes that everyone was watching and listening, but he found he didn’t care much.

So they stayed there for a moment, she wrapped herself around him again and when the cameras were clicking around her she realized that she just made the story tonight about her relationship and not her accomplishment, but she smiled anyway, because he was her family and she deserved to celebrate, any way she wanted.


	6. Book Deals

“Sooo…….,” Ginny slid on to the couch beside Mike.

“Sooo…….,” he answered back.

“Spring Training dates and instructions have been officially delivered. I head south in exactly 54 days,” she curled up with his left arm.

“Okay, sounds good. I guess.” He was slightly confused and this exchange but also slightly annoyed, she knew how much he loved his morning couch sitting time. 

“Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, Baker, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because this is the first year of retirement and I am still playing….”

“So you think I might implode?”

“I mean, that is a possibility, but more like what are you going to do? Write a book?”

“There is zero chance in hell I am writing a book? Why does everyone think I should write a book?”

“Because you’re a living legend, so they say,”

“Okay, what would I write about? My horrifying childhood? My early years in baseball when I was only interested in girls? Or the marriage/divorce I went through? Or how I met and insulted you? Then somehow fell for you then tried to get traded to Chicago? Or when I started dating you while we were playing together? Or how I won a World Series and just never returned to the team?”

She said nothing, just gave him a look of oh shit, didn’t think of that.

“Ya, so what do you want the name of your chapter to be? ‘Beauty and the Beard?’ ‘Rookie of My Heart’? Or the classic ‘My Favorite Pitcher’?”

“So no on the book deals?”

“Hell no to the book deals,” he answered chuckling with her.

“For the record, the chapter would be called ‘Screwed’. HA! How you like them apples?”

“I came up with all those on the fly, you know,” he pulled her closer.

“I do not believe that for a second,” she replied, starting to think a nap was in their future.

“Smart girl.”


End file.
